Smith, E E 'Doc' - d'Alembert 07 - Planet of treachery

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PLANET OF TREACHERY
Volume seven of The classic Family d'Alembert series
By E.E. 'Doc' Smith
With Stephen Goldin
Chapter 1
Encounters on a Pirate World
As the man left the camouflaged doorway of the elevator tube from the pirate base and
headed out into the jungle, he got the distinct impression he was being watched. The
prickling of the small hairs on the back of his neck, the suspicious absence of movement,
the too-quiet stillness all around him-all these were danger signals to his wary mind. He'd
gone through too many perilous situations before, had put his life on the line too many
times, to ignore his instinctive feeling that something was not quite as it should be.
He stood stock still for a moment in a seemingly casual pose-but his hand was no more
than a few centimeters from the hilt of the stun-gun tucked into his belt. Turning his head
slowly he surveyed the landscape before him, alert for a myriad of possible dangers.
The pirate base was organized along very utilitarian lines. All the important
areas-headquarters and strategy, supply depots, communications, living quarters for the
chief pirate officials-were buried below more than a hundred meters of solid rock, secure
from all but the heaviest weapons the Empire could throw at them. Closer to the surface
were the barracks for the "enlisted men," the pirate hordes, representing nearly a
thousand worlds. At this base alone there were more than twenty-two thousand people,
men and women-alumni from the toughest planetary and Imperial prisons, graduates all
from the school of survival-at-any-cost. Ringing the base in a series of underground silos
were the ships the pirates used for their expeditions-more than five hundred of various
sizes, ranging from small, swift scouts to large cruisers brimming over with destructive
capacity.
No expense had been spared to set up the base-and this was only one of several that
this particular pirate knew about. He also knew that the business of looting spaceships
was nowhere near lucrative enough to support an operation of this scope and magnitude.
This all had to be a part of something bigger and more diabolical-but despite his best
efforts he'd been unable so far to pierce that mystery.
As he stood now on the surface and looked around, there was little indication of human
activity on this planet. The elevator tube from which he'd emerged was disguised to look
like a wide tree set at the edge of a clearing. Around it were many other real trees-tall,
with dark brown trunks and broad, serrated leaves of a strange color closer to blue than
green. Strung through the tops of the trees were the red slither vines that all the pirates
learned to avoid within a short while of coming to this world; the vines exuded a strong
serum that could even soak through clothing, and left a person's skin red and burning for
a week or better. Local bird life was abundant, flying between the trees in their brilliant
plumage and raising their voices in raucous cries. Insects and small animals added their
own buzzes, clicks and whistles to the jungle cacophony, all contributing to a picture of
serene normality within this untamed environment.
Nothing moved that could not be expected to; there were no sounds that had not been
there on a dozen previous occasions. There was nothing that could be a cause for alarm
or suspicion. But nevertheless, something felt wrong.
The man stood staring into the jungle for more than a minute before finally moving on. He
was a firm believer in the power of protective paranoia; just because he couldn't see
something didn't mean it wasn't there. He had been living with the constant threat of
discovery and death for two years now, and his intuition had been honed to a fine edge.
He moved slowly, checking each step and looking constantly around, his ears alert for
any slight sounds that might tip him off. His hand did not stray from his side where the
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stunner rested easily on his hip. The feeling of being watched increased as he walked.
There were eyes out there studying his every movement, of that fact he grew more and
more certain. But for what purpose? So far, the unseen observer had made no
threatening moves-but the very fact that he was in hiding meant that his intentions would
not stand up to open examination. That was not good.
As the pirate walked, his suspicions grew. The whole purpose of his coming up here had
seemed funny from the start. "Check out the power feed at generating station number
four," his boss had told him. "It's acting up at odd moments, almost as if someone was
playing with it."
The request had seemed strange at the time. "I don't know much about the generators,"
he'd answered. "Wouldn't it be better to send someone from the work crews?"
"I think it may be one of them doing it," the boss had responded. Then, leaning forward,
he added quietly, "We may have an infiltrator on the base, someone trying to sabotage
our work. I trust you; I'd prefer that you have a look and let me know what you find out.
Go the topside route so no one sees you."
There'd been no way to argue with that and so, reluctantly, he'd taken the assignment. It
made sense in a way, though he had to smile despite himself at the irony of the situation.
But now, as he walked carefully through the jungle toward the generating station, the
conversation took on a much more sinister aspect. What if the boss suspected him of
being the infiltrator? What if he had been sent up here to be executed as a traitor to the
organization? Alone and isolated up here, he made a perfect target. Could this be a
setup?
But what would be the point of that? If they suspected him of betraying them they could
just as easily have killed him down in the base, without bothering to go through with this
ambush. The boss held life and death over his subordinates and had killed people in the
past for less serious offenses. Why the charade this time?
None of it made much sense, and the man could not arrive at any answers. All he had
was the unshakeable conviction that he was indeed being followed and watched.
On impulse. he stopped dead. As his ears strained to pick up some indication of his
follower, a chill went up his spine.
There it was, at the very limits of his hearing: the faint swish of another body moving
through the jungle in time to his own rhythm, coming to a stop just a second too late to
avoid detection. It was impossible to tell in which direction the sound had been; it was
gone again almost the same instant he heard it. But he had heard it, there was no doubt
at all in his mind now.
That question, at least, was settled-but it brought a new one to mind: What to do now?
Should he try to go back to the elevator tube, back down to the base and the safety of
his fellow pirates? If his fears about his boss were correct, though, he would only be
running straight into the arms of the enemy. Should he continue on his intended path to
generating station four and hope to find some sanctuary there? But the unseen watcher
had been waiting for him to come up; perhaps there was a trap waiting there ahead of
him, with the watcher following to make sure he didn't deviate.
The options forward and back seemed pretty dismal, and simply standing where he was
left him too exposed. The only recourse was to break from the path completely, head off
sideways in an unexpected direction and hope to catch his follower by surprise.
Being right-handed, his first impulse was to break to the right. Instead, to avoid
predictability, he ran to the left at about a seventy-degree angle to his original path. He
made no attempt to maintain an unsuspecting air; stopping in the middle of his journey
would have already alerted his enemy of his suspicions. Instead, he threw caution to the
winds and ran through the jungle, pushing aside the brush that whipped at his face and
ripped at his clothes.
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The noise that he made as he crashed through the forest was loud in his own ears, as
were his deep gasps for breath; nevertheless, the sounds behind him were unmistakable
now-the sounds of someone, or some group of people, running after him before he could
escape completely.
The barrel of his stun-gun beat against the man's leg with every stride he took, but he did
not dare slow down yet to unholster it, he had a momentary advantage of speed and sur-
prise, and he wanted to keep it. For all he knew, there could be five people behind him,
all armed with blasters. He had to find himself a secure position before trying to pick off
his pursuers.
Farther off to his left he heard the sound of rushing water, and a plan began to form in
his mind. A small river ran nearby, cascading over a cliff and down to this level in a
beautiful waterfall. The man recalled an outcropping of rock over which the water
tumbled; he could hide in the grotto behind the waterfall and pick off his pursuer as he
approached. While far from perfect, the plan offered more hope than merely running
blindly through the jungle-and any hope was something to grasp at.
He altered course slightly, and soon he could see the cliffs rising into view over the
treetops. With an extra burst of speed he dashed out across the small clearing between
the trees and the cliffs, knowing full well he was dreadfully exposed for several seconds.
He could feel the spray from the cascading water hit his face with sudden coolness-and
then abruptly he was behind it, running around the side of the falls and into the small
grotto in back.
He finally stopped, bending over and gasping desperately for breath. There was a stitch
in his left side that felt like a knife stabbing through his ribs; he made an effort to will the
muscles there to relax, and after a few moments the pain eased enough to let him move
around some more. He drew his stunner from his belt and settled into a defensive
posture, awaiting further developments.
In the next few quiet seconds he willed his mind back to the clear coldness it would need
for the fight to follow. Actually, he was rather satisfied with the position in which he found
himself; it was far more favorable than anything he might have dared hope for. The
waterfall in front of him would at least partially obscure him from the view of any
pursuers, while giving him a clear shot at anyone coming into the clearing. Even if his
enemy stayed in the shelter of the trees at the edge of the jungle, he would be at the
extreme limits of blaster range. The cliff behind him was solid; as a veteran of many
fights, he knew well the advantage of a firm wall at his back. He crouched in the
semi-darkness of his hollow, getting progressively damper, and waited.
The stillness descended once more on the scene. Whoever was following him must have
realized the situation and halted just out of sight, still within the jungle, waiting at the edge
of the clearing for him to make his move. The game of patience began again.
This was eerie, the man thought. He knew someone was after him, but he had not had a
single glimpse of his pursuer. It was a silent and deadly game of hide-and-seek-without
rules and without free bases.
Tiring at last of the silent battle of wills, the pirate called out, "I know you're there. Why
don't you show yourself? Or don't you have the guts for a showdown?"
A moment went by while the other considered his words. Then a voice came out of the
jungle-a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, yet the pirate couldn't quite place it. "An
interesting choice of words," the unseen watcher said. "In a way, you're right. By your
definition, I don't have the guts. But I think it's time for a showdown, after alI." And with
that, he stepped forward.
Behind the waterfall, the pirate's jaw dropped. The man coming toward him was a
duplicate of himself, complete in every detail. The walk, the clothing, the
mannerisms-everything was identical to himself. He now knew why the voice sounded
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familiar-it was his own voice, one he certainly had not expected to hear from someone
else.
At first he was too amazed to do anything but stare at the figure approaching him.
Belatedly he realized that the other him was armed with a blaster, and was walking
within easy range. Whatever the purpose of this apparition, it could mean him no good at
all; he mustn't let it get closer. "That's far enough," he said, taking careful aim with his
stunner.
The other man kept coming forward. There was a smile on his face.
Perspiration was beading on the pirate's forehead. He pulled the trigger of his stun-gun
and heard the satisfying hum of its paralyzing beam.
The other man's smile broadened. He kept on walking. The pirate knew he could not
have missed; he was too good a shot. Perhaps the setting had been faulty. He checked
his weapon quickly and saw that it had been set on four. His lookalike should have
collapsed on the ground and been unconscious for two hours at that setting; instead, he
was still walking relentlessly toward the waterfall.
There was little time left for playing games; the pirate could not spend the effort
wondering what had gone wrong. He set the dial of his stunner all the way up to
ten-instantly lethal and fired again.
And again, nothing happened.
The double advanced to within fifteen meters of the waterfall and stopped there. He
seemed strangely reluctant to come much closer, but he had little need to; his weapon
would be quite effective within that range.
The blaster spoke in a deceptively quiet hum, but there was nothing deceptive about the
charge of dazzling energy that streaked from the barrel. There was a whiff of ozone
where the beam passed through air, and when it hit the waterfall it caused a cloud of
scalding steam to boil upward. Some, but not all, of the beam's energy was dissipated in
the water; the rest passed through and struck the pirate along the right side of the torso.
The man fell to the ground and lay still.
The double watched the body lying motionless on the ground behind the waterfall for a
few moments, then fired his blaster again. This time he directed its beam upward, at the
projecting lip of the overhang down which the water cascaded. He kept the beam at a
steady level until the rock, unable to withstand the continual energy bombardment, began
to crumble away. A minor rockslide ensued, burying the original pirate beneath a pile of
rubble. The body was totally hidden from view.
Observing his handiwork and deeming it good, the double silently tucked the blaster into
its holster, turned, and walked confidently back to the pirate base.
"On the whole," Lady A said to her admiral, "you've done a most creditable job."
Admiral Shen Tzu smiled and touched the fingertips of both hands together in front of him
to form an arch over his chest. "You'll pardon me I'm sure, milady, if I choose not to fully
savor that remark. I've learned that compliments beginning with `on the whole' usually
have a substantial `but' attached."
The two conspirators were alone in Admiral Shen's office, buried deep within the complex
of the pirate base, seated opposite one another across the admiral's desk. Even a
casual observer could have told that the two people were neither friends nor equals.
Lady A had neither, nor did she wish any.
Lady A was not a large woman, of only medium height and build, but she nonetheless
dominated any group she was in. She had a classically beautiful body behind which lay a
soul of ice. She projected an air of calculated superiority, and coldly cultivated the
impression that she was distinct from those who worked for her. She was dressed
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meticulously in a black cat suit with a tight-fitting hood and boots, and a tool belt around
her waist. Tucked into the belt was a coiled whip, and none of her subordinates could be
quite sure whether it was intended to be functional or merely ornamental.
As she looked across the desktop at her underling, she reviewed his qualifications in her
mind as though he were merely another entry in a computer file. She was constantly
revising and updating her opinions of her subordinates; she refused to tolerate
inefficiency, and the moment anyone ceased to do his job the way she wanted it done,
she got rid of him and found someone else who could.
Admiral Shen, though, was still high on her list of favored employees. He was a big,
beefy man with multiple chins and a large belly. He had a long thin mustache that
drooped well down past his chins, and braided forelocks on either side of his face. His
hands were fat, his fingers like sausages, and he had a deep, booming laugh. He
laughed often, this big man, but Lady A did not hold that against him. She judged a man
by his performance, not his outward characteristics; she had read Shen's soul, and found
him more than satisfactory.
One of Shen's weaknesses was a love of affectation. He was currently playing the role
of a Mongol warlord, dressed in a long black coat trimmed with sable over baggy black
velvet pants whose cuffs were tucked into embroidered red leather boots. He had a
pointed leather cap, trimmed with white fur, on his head, and a scimitar-whose handle
was really a disguised blaster-at his belt. An enormous gold medallion covered most of
his chest like a shield.
The decor of his office matched his presumed persona. The walls and ceiling were
draped with a red brocade fabric to resemble a Mongol tent. His desk was carved ebony
with brass fittings. Oriental rugs covered the floor, and a profusion of silk pillows was
scattered about the room. Shen and Lady A were seated on two of the office's
camel-saddle chairs, which were more striking than comfortable.
Shen's extravagances might become tedious once Lady A's regime was firmly
established over the Empire-but until then, his military expertise made him indispensable
to her cause.
Perhaps Shen realized that as well. He was more flippant with her than she usually
allowed subordinates to become. She decided to let his remark remain at face value. Let
him have his little jests for now, she thought.
"The `but' in this case is tolerable-so long as you learn your lesson from it and see that
the mistake isn't repeated. One of your ships, the Lucinda. was captured last week when
it tried an abortive raid on a Navy decoy ship."
Shen shrugged his massive shoulders. "We're in a war. We have to expect casualties
from time to time. A ship or two is hardly a catastrophe-unlike what happened to Ling."
Shen shivered slightly. "That could have really been fatal if you'd actually implemented
Operation Annihilate. We'd have been counting on those ships, and we'd have been
slaughtered."
The incident to which he alluded had occurred several months earlier. Operation
Annihilate had been ready to go into action, awaiting only the word from Lady A-or the
mysterious C-to unleash it. The conspiracy's forces had gathered in the depths of
interstellar space, waiting at several strategic points to descend upon Earth and capture
the heart of the Empire in one bold stroke. The cue was to be the assassination of
Emperor Stanley Ten and Crown Princess Edna during the Princess's wedding at
Bloodstar Hall. With the two best claimants to the Throne dead, the Imperial Navy would
be demoralized-and the subsequent bickering over succession would have allowed a
strong outside force-namely the ships of the conspiracy to sweep in and assume
command.
That, at least, had been the theory. In actuality, the assassinations that were to have
triggered the plan never came about, thanks to the superhuman efforts of some agents
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of the Service of the Empire. Their last-second interference saved the Emperor's and
Princess's lives, causing Lady A to postpone Operation Annihilate.
But, at that same time, her conspiracy suffered another blow when the Imperial Navy
raided one of the pirates' space bases run by Captain Ling, destroying or capturing all
the ships waiting there to take part in the attack. Even Lady A, who claimed to know so
much of the government's inner workings, had been surprised by the raid, leaving her to
wonder whether her own organization's security had been breached; but when more time
passed and none of the other bases were hit, she and C came to the conclusion that this
one raid had been a fluke. Either the Imperial Navy or the Service of the Empire must
have learned of the base through outside sources and acted against it on an impromptu
basis. C had said he'd be checking out the details further. But for now, Ling was dead
and any mistakes he'd made to reveal his location to the Empire had died with him.
Lady A was never one to dwell on past failures, except to make them object lessons for
the future. "The loss of the Lucinda doesn't trouble me greatly," she said. "As you
yourself pointed out, a few losses are inevitable. But aboard the Lucinda, the Navy found
the body of Karla Jost-a woman who was exiled to Gastonia twelve years ago and who,
as far as the Empire's official files went, was still there. Up until that time, the
enforcement arms of the Empire had not suspected our Gastonian operations; now they
do. Karla Jost was supposed to remain here with you. What was she doing on the
Lucinda?"
If the implied charges of malfeasance bothered Shen, he did not let his feelings show.
"She was going to be one of my wing commanders," he explained coolly. "Yet she hadn't
been aboard a ship, except to come here from Gastonia, in a dozen years. I don't know
about you, milady, but I don't want to put someone in a position of command until they've
proven they can handle it. Jost was on a shakedown cruise, to regain her space legs and
get the feel of command. It was only bad luck that her ship was the one the Navy
snatched."
"Bad luck is the excuse of incompetent planners."
Shen smiled disarmingly. Not even Lady A could force him to lose his composure. "Quite
so, but we've all had our share of it, eh? What about your government contacts? Couldn't
they have hushed the matter before it reached SOTE's ears?"
Lady A frowned. "Unfortunately, by the time it came through official channels there was
little we could do. There is a point of no return, after which an attempted coverup only
makes matters worse rather than better. Covering up would have meant too many
corpses, too many transferred personnel, too many falsified records-and if anyone had
caught wind of that, they might realize how well organized our forces are. We decided it
best to leave SOTE with the impression we're more fallible, to lull them into a false sense
of security. In fact, we're working on a plan to turn the error to our advantage."
She stopped abruptly. "But that's not your concern. Whether we can profit by our
mistake is immaterial; the fact remains that the mistake should never have been made in
the first place." She did not have to say more. Her words implied strongly enough that
Shen was to avoid such occurrences in the future. If he was not smart enough to read
the implication, she would soon have a new admiral.
"I agree," Shen said amiably. "But here we run into a problem of morale. That first false
alarm dashed everyone's hopes; sitting here on a jungle world, parsecs away from
civilization, with nothing to do all day but polish the ships' noses is having a bad
psychological effect on my people. We can't make the mistake of giving them too much
time to think; who knows what dangers that might lead to? I must give them something to
do. I'd rather send them out on their occasional piratical jaunts and risk losing a ship
every so often than have them sit around and grumble and grow discontented. That's no
way to win a war, milady."
Lady A nodded slowly. However insubordinate Shen might be, he knew his job. "I am not
asking you to abandon your raids; you're your own master there. But I do ask that you
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pick your targets more carefully. And for your sake-for all our sakes-don't use so many
ex-criminals. If they're caught, they can give away the scope of our endeavor."
Shen smiled. "You need both cons and piracy to make a conspiracy."
There was a pause of two full beats before Lady A said, "I will not dignify that with a
response."
"I didn't think you would. Would you care for an inspection tour instead?" - Lady A
agreed, and followed her admiral around the base, giving it a thorough examination.
Shen's comment about bad luck happening to all of them had hit her harder than she
would ever have admitted. Although the Service of the Empire had stumbled across the
conspiracy very late in the game-too late, she was sure, to stop it effectively-they had
scored a few lucky successes lately against her... too many. They had not yet even
scratched the frost on the tip of the iceberg, but they were becoming annoying. The
Service and its agents were like an insect bite, an itch she couldn't scratch-hardly fatal,
but they did distract her and take some of her concentration away from more important
matters.
She dismissed the thought from her mind. Plans were afoot to deal with SOTE, to use
the very cleverness of its own agents against itself. All would be taken care of in good
time, and Operation Annihilate would soon be in action once more. She did not bother
telling Shen any of this, however; it was never a good policy to let an inferior know any
more than he needed to operate efficiently.
Chapter 2
Luna Base
Luna Base was the central command headquarters of the Imperial Navy. At the very
formation of the Empire of Earth, the decision had been made that the control center of
the Empire's armed forces should be located far from any inhabited regions; that way, in
case of attack, the populace around the base could not be held hostage for the base
itself. The population of Earth at that time had been close to four and a half billion, and
there simply were no suitable land areas left that were far enough from inhabited
regions. Locating the base underwater would have posed additional complications-chiefly
in terms of communications and readiness of ships for instant takeoff-and so that
possibility was discarded as well. Since Earth was to be the seat of imperial government,
military headquarters had to be nearby-leaving as the only two alternatives either the
moon or a station in free space.
Each alternative had both its champions and its detractors. The lunar enthusiasts argued
that a space station would be far too exposed to enemy attack; on the moon, they could
be firmly entrenched and unassailable. The lunar soil, too, would provide the necessary
materials for building both the base and the fleet; any orbiting station would have to
import its materials from the moon anyway.
The proponents of an orbital headquarters countered with arguments about how much
added mobility a space station would give the fleet. They spoke of more efficient
communications between Earth and an orbiting station than between Earth and a lunar
base. Their most telling point was that battleships built at an orbital base could be much
larger than those built on the moon, because they need not be designed to cope with
gravitational conditions. Ships based on the moon would have to take off and land
against a gravity of approximately one-sixth gee; if they were made too large, they'd be
unwieldy. Ships constructed in space, with no need to land on the surface of a planet,
faced no such restrictions.
The debate between the two factions raged for more than three years. The argument
grew so heated that even now, centuries after the original squabble, there were families
who still did not speak to one another because their ancestors had been on opposite
sides of the dispute. Finally, in July of 2228, Emperor Stanley One settled the matter by
taking the best of both proposals. The strategical headquarters and command center
would be on the moon, buried deep below the surface and impregnable to all but the
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most concentrated thermonuclear attack. The orbiting station would be constructed for
the superdreadnaught class of spaceship, anything too large to land on the moon itself;
there would be comparatively few of those, but they would be the elite of the fleet.
Over the centuries, the balance swung slowly in favor of Luna Base. ORB, as the space
station came to be known, was used today primarily as a shipyard and drydock,
secondarily as a center for research and testing of space weapons and armor. Most
other naval command functions were absorbed by the ever-growing lunar facility.
Luna Base was a huge, sprawling complex, far outstripping its modest beginnings. There
were seldom less than five hundred ships sitting on its landing field at any given time,
ranging in size from scouts to cruisers. It was located in the Mare Moscoviense on the
lunar far side, with the body of the moon itself shielding the base's delicate
communications net from the harsh volume of Earth's own radio broadcast signals.
Enormous receivers, some kilometers across, listened to the universe, keeping track of
all interstellar traffic, military and civilian, throughout the Empire. This deluge of incoming
information was interpreted by the Navy's own computer system and eventually stored in
the Empire's Primary Computer Complex.
Luna Base served other functions as well. The Naval Training Academy was located
there, off to one side of the Mare. The Imperial Marines' special low-grav training center
was off in a small crater just to the west of the base. There, too, were housed the
thousands of personnel permanently billeted at the base, plus the hundreds more who
were there awaiting reassignment to new ships.
Despite the best of intentions, human population had built up around the base anyway. It
was inevitable; a project this big, employing this many people, needed administrators to
keep it running and services to fulfill its needs. All told, nearly a hundred thousand people
could be found at Luna Base at any given instant.
At this particular moment, four very special people were wandering down the labyrinthine
corridors of Level 147. They were dressed in the bright orange coveralls of maintenance
crew, but the security strips across the front of their chests gave them instant access to
most rooms within the complex. The corridors were swarming with people, as they
always were at this level, but no one paid particular attention to the four short, solidly,
built figures.
The four had planned it that way, and had worn orange uniforms specifically so they
wouldn't be noticed. They made their livings by remaining anonymous, it could be tragic if
their faces were widely known.
They talked among themselves at a normal conversational level; amid the din of the
random conversations around them, they stood little chance of being overheard.
"I think we're lost," said one of the women to the man walking beside her. "Are you sure
you got the instructions right'?"
"Absolutely, and we've followed them to the letter," replied the man, who was her
husband. "We left elevator tube number four at Level 147, kept the red wall on our right
and followed the blue line on the floor. The room has got to be around here somewhere."
The man made a motion to touch the brim of his hat, and then realized he wasn't wearing
it at the moment.
"Well, something isn't right," his wife said. "We're looking for Meeting Room 147-16, and
the room numbers are going down, not up. There's number ten, and beyond it is nine. We
must be going in the wrong direction. I think we should stop someone and ask."
"Some superagents we'd be then," laughed the second man from behind them. "This was
supposed to be a secret meeting, remember?"
"Well, it won't be any kind of a meeting if we don't get there," said the fourth member of
the group, another woman. "If we don't do something soon, we'll only end up more lost
than we are."
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"Don't worry," the first man said lightly. "I've been dropping breadcrumbs behind us. If the
birds don't eat them-ah, there it is, on the other side! Meeting Room 147-16. Once again
I've delivered you to the promised land."
"I think that stint as a preacher addled his brains," his wife confided to the other two.
"Now he thinks he's Moses."
The group cut across the busy traffic moving steadily past them and made it to the other
side of the corridor, where the sign on the door indicated that was the room they were
seeking. The first man reached for the button that would admit them, then hesitated. "Are
you sure he wants to see Vonnie and me, too?" he asked. "We've never met him and. . ."
"He asked for you both specifically. You're not exactly what anyone would call a security
risk."
Shrugging his shoulders, the first man pressed the button and the door to Meeting Room
147-16 slid silently open in front of them. Together, the four orange-clad figures entered
the chamber.
It was hard for them to see anything at first. The room itself was dimly lit except for the
far wall, which appeared to be a picture window overlooking the sunlit surface of Mare
Moscoviense. The view was actually a triscreen projection; six hundred meters below the
lunar surface, all they could have seen through a real window would be solid rock. The
window effect did, however, help prevent claustrophobia in people who had to work
constantly underground.
As their eyes became accustomed to the lighting, they could make out more details of
the room. A dim blue light radiated down from the ceiling tiles; the three walls other than
the one with the "window" contained computer projection screens; any information stored
in the Navy's computers could be instantly called up and displayed on those screens-or, if
it was preferred, conferees within the room could sketch their own illustrations via
computer controls. In the center of the room was an enormous table, around which were
clustered more than a score of chairs. The top surface was again an enormous, com-
puter projection screen, on which could be simulated entire space battles and war
games.
Aside from themselves, the only other person in the room was a man standing at the far
end of the long table. He wore a conservative gray jumpsuit, which normally would have
allowed him to blend nicely into any crowd; here at Luna Base, however, where uniforms
were the rule, the man stood out as quite an exception. He was close to fifty and totally
bald-but even in the semi-darkness of this room, the fire of intelligence could be seen
burning brightly behind his eyes.
This man was Zander von Wilmenhorst, and he was one of perhaps half a dozen people
whose slightest actions could alter the destiny of the Empire of Earth. He was most
widely known as the Grand Duke of Sector Four, that ten-degree sliver of an imaginary
sphere surrounding Earth and extending toward infinity. Von Wilmenhorst was the
hereditary ruler of all worlds lying within the boundaries of his sector, subject only to the
Emperor himself-and since his sector was one of the most thoroughly explored and
populated, he held a considerable amount of influence in galactic affairs.
But there were thirty-five other grand dukes, all his equal in rank; what set him
particularly apart from the rest was the fact that he was also the Head of the Service of
the Empire, that vast Imperial intelligence network that kept the Empire free of corruption
and discontent. Being the supreme leader of SOTS-though that fact was known to a
comparative handful, and most of those within the organization itself-was his primary
responsibility; it made him a key advisor to the Emperor on matters of policy and internal
security.
The Service of the Empire was not a spying agency, though many of its agents did work
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under cover; nor was it a police agency, though the targets of its attention were usually
lawbreakers. The purpose of SOTE was, quite simply, to assure the safety of the
Empire against all threats. It was loyal exclusively to whoever occupied the Throne, and
did its utmost to ensure the stability of that person's reign. The Service was charged with
the task of weeding out treason wherever it might occur and whatever the cost. The
agents of SOTE were the most able, most conscientious people in the Galaxy, and their
record of success spoke for itself.
Von Wilmenhorst, in turn, eyed the four people who had entered the room. Of all the
loyal, talented people at his disposal, these four were his top choices. Together, they
made two of the best undercover teams he'd ever seen; time and again they produced
results that took his breath away.
The way they had multiplied was most gratifying indeed. He had started out with two: the
brother-sister team of Jules and Yvette d'Alembert, circus performers from the
high-gravity world of DesPlaines. In addition to bodies in prime physical condition, they
also possessed minds that could act with lightning speed. They'd been his top agents.
Jules d'Alembert was the only person currently alive who'd made a perfect score on the
thousand-point test of ability given to all Service personnel; Yvette was barely a point
behind at 999. Together they had helped smash a ring of traitors that had been building
for sixty years, and had gone on to crack numerous other difficult cases as well.
Only a few months ago both had gotten married-Jules to his childhood sweetheart
Yvonne Roumenier, and Yvette to a young nobleman, Pias Bavol, from the high-gravity
Gypsy planet of Newforest. Both Pias and Vonnie were now in the Service as well,
working with their spouses. Instead of one super team, the Head now had two-a
double-barreled threat against the enemies of the Empire.
"Come in, please," the Head said. "You're right on time. I trust the directions I gave you
were adequate."
Pias Bavol was a bit shy at meeting the Head for the first time-but as always, he covered
his shyness with a lighthearted exterior. "The directions were perfect, sir. Despite the
doubts of unnamed others who thought we were lost, I guided us safely here."
The Head laughed. "I know the feeling well. I got lost myself on my first few visits. Luna
Base grew in a very irregular manner, and nothing is ever quite where you'd expect it to
be. Sorry to have you meet me here rather than in Headquarters on Earth, but I've been
involved for the past few weeks in security briefings with the Navy brass, and I couldn't
get away." He looked pointedly at Jules and Yvette. "Aren't you two going to introduce
me to your spouses?"
Brother and sister blushed. They had both conferred with the Head on so many
occasions that it was difficult to remember that Vonnie and Pias had never met him. It
was Yvette who finally took the initiative. "Vonnie d'Alembert, Pias Bavol, this is our boss,
Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst."
The two introductees were suitably impressed, but the Head put them quickly at ease.
"Yvonne, I'd like to say that you're more beautiful and charming than Jules described, but
I'm afraid that would be impossible; you'll have to settle for as beautiful and charming.
And as for you, Pias," the Head went on, turning to Yvette's husband and looking him
straight in the eyes, "I could never adequately thank you for helping save my daughter's
life on Sanctuary."
Pias shrugged. "It was something I just sort of fell into," he explained with
uncharacteristic modesty.
"And lucky for all of us that you did," the Head added. "Amen," Yvette smiled at her
husband.
The Head waved an arm at the chairs around the central table. "Please be seated and
make yourselves comfortable. If you'd like some refreshment, you'll find that each place
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